A Rush Of Blood To The Head
by hate2luv
Summary: NOT a song-fic! Hermione's in love, Draco needs something 'more'. Hermione knows they're perfect for each other, so why won't Draco see that? EWE, Rated R for use of coarse language, Post-Hogwarts
1. Chapter 1

_'Honey  
All the movements you're starting to make  
See me crumble and fall on my face  
And I know the mistakes that I made  
See it all disappear without a trace  
And they call as they beckon you on  
They said start as you mean to go on  
Start as you mean to go on'_

Coldplay 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head'

**Hermione**

**Part 1:**

"Over?" Hermione asked weakly, clasping an arm around her waist. Her legs felt as though they would give out any moment, so she sat down in the nearest armchair.

"Yes," came the almost indifferent reply. "Over."

"Draco," Hermione whispered pleadingly. "But –but why?"

He walked over to where she sat, and knelt down in front of her, placing each hand on an armrest on either side of her. "Hermione, I...I _need _something more. Something –I don't know...different! We've been together for three years, and now, I just feel...suffocated. I need space."

She looked at him, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, wondering what _more _he needed. She had given him all she had, and then some. She _loved _him. And she couldn't understand why he was doing this to her. They were perfect together, couldn't he tell? They were _meant to be. _But looking into his eyes, she knew he didn't see that. He didn't see how much he had taken from her, how little he left her with. He was breaking up with her because he truly believed that there was _more _out there for him. That someone else could love him half as much as she did. But there was one last thing she had to know.

"Draco," she started, regaining some of her composure. "Did –did you _ever _love me?"

He averted his eyes and didn't answer. She swallowed and blinked back her tears. She had let him walk all over her heart, there was _no way _she was going to let him see her cry.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment."

The minute he Disapparated, Hermione Granger burst into tears.

* * *

"Hermione!" Ginny called out in a sing-song voice. "Where are you?"

"Coming!" Hermione replied, walking out of the bathroom in a bathrobe, drying her hair furiously with a towel.

"'Mione, I don't understand you sometimes," Ginny clucked disapprovingly. "You're a _witch_, woman, there are _spells _for drying your hair. Much quicker and easier. For the brightest witch and all that, you can be rather dense," she teased.

"Ha ha," Hermione replied humourlessly, rolling her eyes and plopping down on the rug in front of the fireplace. "I prefer doing it this way. Just because I'm a witch doesn't mean I have to use spells for every little thing. So, what do I owe this early morning Floo-call to?"

"Oh, right, I was wondering if you want to come over for dinner tonight. Harry's cooking," she added in a conspiratorial tone, "so I suggest you snack a bit before coming over...just to keep you going through the night. Contrary to his own beliefs, he doesn't cook all that well at all! I just don't say much because, as you know, I'm a loving, devoted wife and not to mention, newly-wed. Don't need an argument starting up so soon. "

Hermione gave a small laugh at Ginny's words and she shook her head. "Honestly, you two are funny."

Ginny gave a small pout. "Funny? That's...disappointing, to say the least. I was hoping we'd be labelled 'cute' or 'romantic'...but funny? Now that certainly puts a damper on things. Anyway, are you coming tonight? You can even bring that prat boyfriend of yours, Malfoy, over. I'll see to it that Harry doesn't, accidentally or intentionally, hex him. Although, maybe...you could...you know, _not _warn him about Harry's culinary skills, or lack thereof, and let him starve through the night? Please?" Ginny asked hopefully.

Hermione gave a watery smile but said nothing. Talking required her to open her mouth, and Hermione knew that if she did that she would start sobbing again. And she had just gotten herself to stop.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, her face scrunching up slightly in concern. "Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded rapidly, willing herself not to cry. Ginny's concerned voice made it even harder to keep the tears at bay. The lump in her throat had swelled to an immense size and it was suffocating her. It hurt so much. She let out a sob.

"Hermione!" Ginny called out anxiously.

Hermione didn't answer or look up at Ginny, instead pressing her palms to her eyes, as though that would stem the tear flow, or make the pain go away. It did neither. Sobs wracked her frame as the memories of the previous night returned full force. Why? _Why? _The question had been engraved into her mind, and no matter how bright she was, she found no answer.

"Harry!" she distantly heard Ginny call out. "Harry, I'm going over to Hermione's for a bit! I'll be back soon!"

There was some shuffling, a _Pop!_ and then the flames roared up again, revealing one, slightly sooty, Ginny Potter, née Weasley. A pair of arms engulfed her as she continued to cry. Warm hands smoothed over her damp hair and words of comfort were whispered into her ear. Hermione cried herself to sleep in Ginny's arms.

* * *

"I said _I don't know, _Harry! I was just talking to her, and she started crying. She seemed very upset...more than usual. And she cried herself to sleep."

"Did you tell her Harry was cooking?" Ron's voice came through the Floo. "Because that would make me cry too, y'know."

Harry turned to glare at his best friend. "Shut it, mate. This is serious."

"I _am_ serious," Ron quipped, but sobered up immediately. "Should we come over?" he asked.

"No," Ginny replied distractedly, turning to make sure she didn't wake Hermione. "I'll try and handle this."

Harry nodded, but still looked worried. "And what about that git she calls a boyfriend? Shouldn't he be around?"

Ginny looked at him reproachfully. "Harry, don't start this now, okay? Let's just wait for Hermione to wake up and tell me what's wrong."

"I bet it's Malfoy's fault she's upset," Ron's voice floated through the Floo again.

"Yeah," Harry agreed vehemently. "It probably is. That's why he's not with her."

Ginny remained silent. It was a possibility, and a very big one at that. "I'll let you know...if she wants me to. I'll see you later, Harry. You too, Ron. Give Lavender my love."

She heard Ron's muffled acknowledgement in the background and after a quick smile and worried glance from Harry, the Floo connection ended. Ginny turned back to her best friend and watched her as she slept. She had laid a pillow under Hermione's head and a blanket over her in an attempt to keep her comfortable as she slept. Sighing softly, she removed a stray lock of hair from Hermione's face and wondered for the millionth time what had broken her down like this. She hoped to Merlin that it wasn't her heart.

It was a while later that Hermione awoke. At first, she simply stared at the ceiling, mind blissfully blank. Then she wondered why her ceiling seemed higher up than usual. How odd. She absently raised up her hand, as though to reach out and touch it.

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice drifted over to her.

"Yeah," Hermione replied, putting her hand down. Her throat felt parched and her eyes felt swollen.

"Are you okay, honey?"

The blissful ignorance vanished and was immediately replaced by more real emotions. Like the gnawing pain in her chest. The emptiness. Hermione sighed and felt a stray tear trickle down her temple, into her hair, followed by another and then another. At least she wasn't sobbing anymore.

"He broke up with me, Gin," she replied, giving a mirthless smile which quickly disappeared. A smile, even a mirthless one, seemed too much of an effort. Her face muscles felt as though they hadn't been used in years. "Said he needed _more. _More. Something _different_, he said." She gave a short, sardonic laugh and sat up, turning to face Ginny, who wore an expression somewhere between rage and sympathy. "More like, he needed a new hole to fuck. He never even loved me."

Finally, _finally, _the sadness was being replaced as anger began to settle in. How _dare _he? After she had given him _everything_ that mattered most to her –her love, her heart, her fucking _virginity, _how dare he leave, saying he needed _more? _Needed something different! The good-for-nothing scumbag had _no right _to make her cry. He wasn't worth her tears. Hell, he wasn't even fit to lick the soles of her shoes clean! And all he had talked about was what _he _needed. What about what she needed? Didn't that count? Wasn't it important? She guessed it wasn't important to someone who didn't love her. He didn't love her.

"And you know what the best part is, Gin?" she asked, breathing hard, willing herself not to throw anything at the wall. She was angry, so angry now. At herself for having been so _stupid_, at the imbecile she had once called her boyfriend.

"What?"

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

**A/N: So, Draco can't always be the perfect guy...this is my take on the imperfect Draco. Review! :D Chapter 2 will be up soon...if you like the story :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_So if you think you're tough  
Give me all your love  
And I'll give you every little piece of me_

-- Zero 7 "Pageant Of The Bizarre"

**Part 2:**

_Three months later..._

"Hermione! Hurry up and let us in!"

Hermione jogged to the door and let in her very disgruntled, very wet best friends. She giggled at the sight of them.

"What happened to you guys?"

"That blasted kid who lives downstairs decided it would be fun to spray us with a little water," Ron complained loudly, as he entered her apartment, taking off his soaked cloak. "Next time, I'm just going to Apparate straight into your apartment, instead of outside."

Hermione shook her head and smiled at Harry who was absently wiping his glasses on his wet t-shirt, hence not being able to dry his glasses at all.

"Ron, the kid's only four years old, give him a break. And, no, you will not Apparate straight into my apartment. It's rude." She took Harry's glasses from him, wiped them on her own t-shirt and returned them to him.

"Thanks 'Mione," he said, before taking out his wand and charming himself dry.

"Why can't I Apparate straight into your living room? I'm your best friend, for Merlin's sake!" Ron stated.

"And so is Harry, you don't see him complaining," Hermione reprimanded, retreating into the kitchen.

"Yeah, well, he's a bit of a ponce –ow! What was that for?"

"For calling me a ponce, you git!"

Hermione chuckled at their banter. "Do you guys want anything to drink?" she called out.

"Sure, anything's fine!" Harry replied.

Hermione took out two bottles of Butterbeer from the refrigerator and walked back into the living room, where Harry had turned on the television and was flipping through the channels.

"There you go," she said, setting them out in front of the boys.

"Thanks," Ron replied, not looking up from the screen.

She sat down on an armchair and looked at her best friends amusedly. Their attentions were now glued to the football match which was currently playing out on the television screen.

"And here I was, thinking the two of you were visiting me," Hermione sighed dramatically. "Alas, it was just another excuse to watch TV."

Harry and Ron smiled sheepishly at her, before switching the TV off with great reluctance.

"Sorry, 'Mione," Harry said, "can't help it sometimes. Old habits."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't blame Ginny and Lavender for not letting the two of you buy television sets. You wouldn't ever move a muscle again. I mean, Harry, I can understand, to an extent, but Ron, you too!"

"What?" Ron asked defensively. "I like watching it too! It's interesting, kind of like a book with moving pictures...only that they move a lot more."

Hermione raised her eyebrow at the comparison. "Yeah..." she replied slowly, "but Muggle football?"

Ron shrugged. "Harry explained it to me. A bit like Quidditch, except it's on the ground."

"Er –right."

"Anyhow," Harry cut in, diverting the conversation, "how are you doing now, Hermione?"

Hermione unconsciously rubbed the bulge that had formed on her stomach. "Fine, better. At least I'm not craving fish all the time anymore. I mean, I don't even _like _fish! Stupid cravings."

"And your morning sickness?"

"Gone. And I'm not complaining about _that. _Going to work after vomiting my guts out and then vomiting my guts out again _after _getting to work is not something I miss!" Hermione declared fervently. She hadn't taken any potions for it, since her Healer had told her that it would be these first few months in which all her baby's major organs would develop. Instead, she had chosen to bear all the nausea and vomiting the pregnancy brought.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments before Hermione noticed Harry and Ron exchange glances.

"What is it?" she asked, a sudden fluttering in her stomach.

"Hermione," Harry began tentatively. "Have you seen today's Daily Prophet?"

Hermione shook her head mutely, no. "What about it?"

Harry took out a rolled up copy from the inside of his jacket and handed it to her. Hermione felt her heart drop somewhere down to her ankles and nausea returned full force, although this had nothing to do with the pregnancy.

The day's headlines announced the engagement between the sole Malfoy heir, Draco Malfoy and a French witch, Camille de Machaut –it appeared that not only was she deliciously rich, she was also deliciously Pureblooded. Accompanying the eye-watering size of the headline, was an equally eye-watering picture of the happy couple. Hermione avoided looking at the handsome man in the picture. Simply reading his name had brought up a flood of emotions. She didn't want to find out what seeing his face would do to her. Hermione noted, with not a little amount of sorrow, that the witch was intelligent-looking, well-groomed and beautiful. Extremely beautiful...

_Hermione looked at herself in the full-length mirror, biting her lip and frowning. She didn't look right. Was it her hair or her make-up? Or was it her boyfriend standing behind her, who seemed to have been blessed with beauty so profound that everything and everyone else paled in comparison._

"_What's wrong?" he asked softly, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head._

_Hermione shook her head, feeling foolish. She wasn't a vain person by nature, but when one went out with Draco Malfoy, one had to look their best at all times. Somehow, Hermione hadn't quite reached that 'best' yet._

"_I can tell it's not 'nothing'. My girlfriend doesn't stand in front of the mirror for so long looking like her cat died unless it's something important." _

"_It's not that important," Hermione whispered, meeting his eyes in the mirror._

"_If it's distressing you so much, it's important to me."_

"_I –oh, Merlin, this is so stupid!" Hermione huffed. "I don't look...beautiful. Or pretty. Or even remotely attractive. I look like an idiot. "_

_Draco's eyebrows shot up. "What?"_

"_You heard me."_

"_No, I think I misheard you. I thought you said you didn't look beautiful."_

"_That's what I said."_

"_Granger," he began in an incredulous tone, "are you blind, or just plain dumb?"_

_Hermione's eyes narrowed. "_Malfoy,_" she replied, emphasising on his last name, "I am neither. So stop insulting me, already. It's rude to kick someone when they're already down."_

"_Hermione, beauty isn't about this," he said, bringing up a hand and tracing the contours of her face. He moved it down to her chest, around where her heart was. "It's about this. You're a beautiful person inside and that's all that matters to me. And as my magnificent luck would have it, you're a bloody gorgeous person on the outside too!" he declared, leering at her._

_That was all it took to make her feel better. That was all she needed –reassurance from the man she loved. Fuck you, world, because the love of my life thinks I'm gorgeous. _

"_Draco, just because you said something vaguely sweet, and most probably well-rehearsed, doesn't mean you have permission to grope my breast. Get your hands off me!" Hermione scolded, trying but failing to suppress a smile._

"_What's the point of you being my girlfriend if I can't even grope you?" he laughed, giving her breast a playful squeeze before retracting his hand quickly to avoid her slap. "Now, unless you want to lose that reservation for dinner, I suggest you go and get your purse, beautiful!"_

Beautiful...

Carefully, she folded up the paper and handed it back to Harry, who, along with Ron, regarded her with worry in their eyes. She pasted a smile on her face.

"It's okay. I'm alright."

They remained unconvinced. Hermione gulped. She didn't know what to say, and, no, she wasn't alright. Her thoughts were a mess, her head was a mess, and her heart was...a million little pieces, all of which were individual little messes. It had taken him only three months to move on _and_ get engaged to another witch? When all she had accomplished in _three years _was a 'girlfriend' title. And furthermore, hadn't he needed _some space? _Last she had heard, being engaged was one step away from being committed and that was nowhere close to 'having space'.

The cold and sad truth was that Draco Malfoy had gotten tired of her. Plain and simple. She hadn't been enough to keep his attention and eventually she had bored him. So be it. But she still had her baby. Her own child. Her own little piece of the man she used to love. She gently rubbed her stomach again and looked up at Harry and Ron.

"I really am okay," she said, this time meaning it.

Harry smiled, Ron looked unsure. "You still aren't going to let him know?" Harry asked.

"No. He left me, and he never once bothered to find out how I am. I'm not interested in letting him know. This is my child, and mine alone. He has nothing to do with it."

"Well said, 'Mione," said Ginny, who appeared from Hermione's bedroom.

"Whoa! Where did you come from?" Harry asked, looking at her in confusion.

"I –uh, Apparated."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "So she can Apparate into your apartment and we can't?"

"Why did you come out from her bedroom, then?" Harry asked at the same time.

"Well," Ginny said, sitting down next to Harry. "I meant to Apparate into the living room, but I somehow ended up in the bedroom. Oh well, close enough, I guess."

"And that's why," Hermione declared to Ron, "you aren't allowed to Apparate into my living room. Because you might end up in my bedroom. Or my bathroom."

"Point taken," Ron muttered, turning pink.

Hermione smirked. "When's Lavender coming over?"

Ron consulted his wristwatch. "Uh, soon," he muttered distractedly. "She said she'd buy some things she needed to prepare lunch and then she'd come over."

Hermione sighed. "She didn't have to go through all that trouble, Ron. I would have cooked us all lunch."

"She wanted to do it for you. She really does like you, you know. And besides, you have to rest."

"I like her too, despite whatever differences we may have had in Hogwarts. And, really, rest? The baby isn't due for another five and a half months! You guys worry too much."

"Hermione," Ginny said seriously, "Draco isn't here to worry about you." She held up her hand to silence the protestations Hermione was about to make. "I _know _you don't need him. You don't need him because you're a capable witch. And you don't need him because we're here for you. Malfoy may not be here to worry about you, but the four of us are going to do it in his place. And we're going to do a hell of a better job of it, too!"

Hermione looked around the room at the smiling faces of her best friends and felt more loved than she had in quite some time. Draco and his beautiful fiancée seemed to melt away into the background as she surveyed them. She felt her eyes tear up. Who needed him, when she had friends like these?

"Thank you, guys," Hermione whispered, before the tears started to flow openly down her face. Damned pregnancy hormones.

There was an outbreak of noise as Ginny's "Aww, don't cry, sweetie" intermingled together with Harry and Ron's concerned questions about her wellbeing and a knock on the door signalling Lavender's arrival.

* * *

**A/N: There you go :D Btw, the part in _Italics _is just a flashback...I didn't really want to put in a whole (flashback) heading over it...it would ruin the flow (I think so, anyway). Hope you enjoyed this chapter...review! XD Cheers**


	3. Chapter 3

_I must confess_

_That my loneliness is killing me now_

_Don't you know I still believe?_

_That you will be here_

--Britney Spears (Baby One More Time)

**Part 3:**

Hermione had never been a large person. In fact, she was more on the shorter, petite size. Standing at 5'2, the top of her head barely skimmed Ron's shoulder. Even Ginny had four inches of vertical goodness on Hermione.

But currently, Hermione felt huge. She felt more than huge. Four and a half months into the pregnancy and she was showing more than what she felt was right. No matter that the Healer had said it was perfectly normal, she refused to believe that being unable to fit into her own robes so soon was acceptable in any sort of way. She paused in mid-struggle with her robes, huffed and pulled them down in one vicious tug.

Gods. The bulge.

Biting down a scream of frustration, she stomped into the living room, grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder and flung it into the fire.

"Ginny Potter!" she all but yelled, dropping down to her knees and sticking her head into the now-green flames. There was a sound of breaking china, a curse and muffled footsteps, before she found herself face-to-face with Ron Weasley.

"Don't you ever go home?" she asked him snarkily, annoyed at not being able to see the one person she needed the most at the moment –her female best friend.

Ron shrugged casually. "Lavender left for the Ministry early this morning. There was no breakfast, so I popped over here."

"Can't you _cook_, you lazy bum?"

"Nah."

For some reason, his carefree answer infuriated her even more. She wanted to lob something at his head. He must have sensed the gist of her thoughts, because he inched back slowly, eyeing her warily.

A deep breath, "Where's Ginny?"

"She's showering."

"Call her out."

"I can't –"

The last vestiges of restraint vanished. "RONALD WEASLEY, I DEMAND THAT YOU CALL YOUR SISTER OUT _NOW_!"

He disappeared so fast that Hermione was left wondering whether he had actually Disapparated away. Thirty seconds later, he returned, accompanied by a partially wet and rather worried Ginny. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt at the anxious expression her best friend was sporting, but it was quickly crushed down by the distressed part of her.

"Ginny," she wailed unhappily.

"Hermione, is everything okay?"

Hermione shook her head.

"What's wrong?"

Hermione sniffed. "I'm fat."

Ginny blinked once, twice, three times. Ron muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Nutters," and left the room, shaking his head.

"You're...fat?" Ginny repeated slowly, as though letting the words sink in.

Hermione nodded emphatically. "I can't fit into _any _of my robes, Gin! It's terrible! I _feel _terrible!"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Since when did Hermione Granger start caring about her weight?"

"Since she got pregnant, that's when! And I'm telling you, it is _not _normal to have a bulge this big just yet! Something _must _be wrong!"

Ginny bit back laughter at the sight of her best friend. The once calm and logical Hermione Granger had been reduced to this? It seemed surreal.

" 'Mione, sweetheart, you're not fat, you're pregnant. And there's nothing wrong with your size. The Healer said so. Even the Muggle doctor you went to said so. Everything's going to be just fine. Now, if you want, I can meet up with you after work and we'll go buy you some new robes. What do you say?"

Hermione looked down at her stomach and rubbed her face tiredly. She knew she sounded like a small, petulant child, but for some reason, whinging and whining made her feel slightly better at this point. And she knew how lucky she was to have friend who put up with it. So she nodded and gave Ginny a watery smile, and pulled her head out of the fire. Returning to the bedroom, she surveyed her appearance once more and after a moment's deliberation, she cast a Glamour charm over her clothes, hiding the evidence of her pregnancy extremely well, and Flooed to the Ministry.

When she had informed her friends of her choice to hide the bulge, they had been supportive, but despite that, she knew they didn't really understand her reason for doing so. She had seen the shadow of confusion play over their faces at her decision. But she hadn't gone into detail. The truth was that _it was nobody's business. _She knew that her possessiveness was bordering on psychotic, but she didn't want anyone to know about her child just yet. She didn't want the questions and the theories and the rumours and, most of all, the pity, that people would offer her. And she didn't want _him _to find out. That was one thing she wanted to avoid...for as long as possible, at least. Because even Hermione knew that very soon, Glamour charms wouldn't work effectively, and people would find out. But until then, there was no need to let anyone know.

She stumbled ungracefully out of the Ministry's fireplace, righting herself as she regained balance. Running a hand through her ponytailed hair, she headed straight towards the lift that would take her to her floor.

"Hermione!"

She spun around, coming face-to-face with Lavender.

"Hey, Lavender," she said, smiling warmly at the witch as she fell into step beside her. "I heard you got here earlier than usual."

"I did, I had a few reports to finish, and I needed access to some of the files here. Who told you, anyway?"

"Ron. He was over at Harry and Ginny's for breakfast, because apparently you didn't leave him any."

Lavender exhaled sharply. "Merlin. I have. Never. Met. Anyone. Lazier than Ronald Weasley. He drives me right up the wall sometimes!"

Hermione gave the witch a consoling pat on the shoulder as they walked into the lift and waited as a few more people hurried into it. She chatted with Lavender for a while longer, until she reached her floor.

"Well, I'll see you later, then."

"Should I meet you for lunch?"

"Sure," Hermione smiled, waving slightly as the lift doors closed and it started moving again. Smiling pleasantly at her co-workers, she made her way to her office which was situated at the far end of the large room. Unlocking her door, she sighed as she walked in and dropped her bag on the nearest chair and made her way around her desk to her chair. She suppressed another sigh as she glanced at the teetering stack of files on one side of her desk. It seemed that no matter how much she worked and how many cases she worked through, there always seemed to be a lot more that wasn't done. It was depressing, to say the least. But Hermione still loved her job as Chief Analyst and Advisor of the Ministry's Department of Financial Affairs. It involved a lot of Advanced Arithmancy and Muggle Statistics, both of which she enjoyed immensely.

Carefully, she pulled out a file from the bottom of the pile and perused through it, frowning at the discrepancies in the calculated amounts. Whoever had prepared this file needed to be fired. Immediately.

"Might as well get down to it, then," she murmured to herself resignedly, picking up a quill.

It wasn't very long before a flurry of activity disrupted her concentration. A flock of flying memos zoomed in through her open window (which displayed a view of a bright and sunny hillside at any time of the day, although it was actually connected to the neighbouring office) and crash landed on her desk, upsetting her inkwell.

"Bugger!" Hermione muttered, snatching the file in front of her away from the mess. Reaching for her wand, she quickly Vanished away the ink and plucked out the memo closest to her. She opened it gingerly, to avoid the ink that was dripping from its sides.

_Ms. Granger,_

_Hope this memo finds you well...because you won't be for much longer. Malfoy Industries is sending over their Financial Advisor to meet with you. Apparently they have some –concerns –about the recent Tax Laws passed by the Ministry. Needless to say, they aren't pleased. I advise you to stay prepared. And in case of fight or flight, I suggest that you run for it. This department does not have sufficient finances to pay off any lawsuit they might impose on us if you harm their employee. _

_Your Boss,_

_Kirk Cress_

_Head of Department of Financial Affairs_

_P.S. The meeting is at 09 00 Hrs. That's fifteen minutes from now._

There was some sadistic deity up there roaring his head off at her misfortune. Hermione knew it, she could just _feel _it in her bones. It wasn't unusual for advisors from Malfoy Industries to discuss financial situations with Hermione, especially when they were at a disadvantage. Usually, some compromise was reached, but if that wasn't the case then it was because Hermione had gotten her way. The only problem with these meetings was that the 'advisor' was usually the CEO himself, Draco Malfoy. In fact, that was how they had started dating three years ago. After one particularly draining meeting, where both of them had ended up screaming themselves hoarse about importation taxes, inflation rates, the value of the Galleon, bushy-haired know-it-alls and stupid, white ferrets, he had slumped down in the chair in front of her and asked her out to lunch. Surprised and caught off guard, she had agreed. It had soon become a routine.

But that was before. It was all different now. Would she have the courage it took to sit in front of him and act like the past three years hadn't happened? Like she wasn't carrying his child? Like she didn't still love him? Like she didn't want to hex him and his stupid fiancée into the next millennium? Hermione was a good actress when she needed to be, but even she couldn't pull that off.

She dropped her head into her hands. She couldn't do this. She was pregnant, fat and –she checked her watch –ten minutes away from meeting with The-Biggest-Prat-In-The-Universe-Cum-Ex-Boyfriend-Extraordinaire, Draco Malfoy, and she _just couldn't do it_! She had a breaking point too, damnit! Not to mention, she hadn't taken a sick leave in...well, she had _never _taken a sick leave, so now seemed like an ideal time to do so. Making up her mind with a firm nod, she rearranged her pile of files, ignoring the pang of guilt that shot through her and was just about to pick up her handbag when a knock sounded on her door.

Hermione froze. It was 8:59...he couldn't be here already, could he? It was still too early! The meeting didn't start for another one minute. Maybe if she ignored him, he would –

The knock came again, this time it was louder and more insistent. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she called out, "Come in."

The first thing that she registered when the door swung open was that this man was most certainly _not _Draco Malfoy. She didn't know whether she wanted to dance a little happy jig, or burst into tears. Or she could cry _while _dancing, it would still work. She was so happy and relieved and intensely disappointed. It seemed like a small part of her had really wanted to see him.

But then as Hermione took in his appearance, she began to wonder who exactly he was. He had an air of arrogance around him that reminded her distinctly of Draco, but his tan skin and black hair which was tied into a short ponytail were the very opposites of the pale-bordering-on-transparent Malfoy clan. He did, however, have a defined bone structure and grey eyes that bore a startling resemblance to Draco. That was unsettling. Hermione frowned.

"Er...who _are _you?"

_Very eloquent, Hermione, _she berated herself silently. He merely raised an eyebrow at her, an almost-disdainful expression on his face.

"Pierre de Machaut. I am Malfoy Industries' new financial advisor."

De Machaut. So he was related to Draco's fiancée. Perfect.

"Pierre de Machaut," Hermione repeated, pronouncing the name perfectly. "Please, come in and take a seat." She motioned to the chair in front of her.

"I must admit, I was expecting Mr. Malfoy himself, seeing as he usually attends these meetings himself, so please forgive my rudeness. I was surprised."

He inclined his head. "It's quite understandable. However, Mr. Malfoy will no longer be taking care of these aspects of the company personally. He has assigned that to be my job."

The man's accent had a distinct hint of French in it, and was very cultured. And it just oozed money. Tons of it.

"I understand," Hermione replied, smiling weakly, although she didn't. Not really. Draco was cutting off all ties with her and she didn't know why. Breaking off their relationship was understandable, but a professional relationship too? She didn't understand that. What had she done that was so bad that he just wanted to forget about her existence? What had she done that –

_No! _a stronger voice inside of her quelled her train of thought. She refused to blame herself for anything. She hadn't done anything wrong. She had nothing to regret, except maybe for ever having met that git. This was his entire fault.

"Well, Mr. –er..." Would that be Mr. De Machaut, or simply Mr. Machaut? Hermione had no idea. Luckily, he sorted that problem out.

"Please, Ms. Granger, Pierre will suffice."

She smiled a real smile this time. "As will Hermione."

* * *

Hermione sped up as the small restaurant came into view. Despite its external appearance, it was one of the best Wizarding restaurants and getting a table was probably slightly harder than breaking into a high-security vault in Gringotts. Lucky for them, however, Lavender had somehow managed to come to an agreement with the owner. She had a permanently reserved table at the hotel, in exchange for her silence on a rather scandalous event she had witnessed. She spotted Lavender waiting for her by the entrance and she waved enthusiastically, feeling happier than she had in quite a while. The meeting with Pierre had gone fabulously. He was intelligent, witty and could keep up with any argument she made, adding in a few of his own. Not to mention, he was charming and handsome and –

"Earth to Hermione!" Lavender giggled, wiggling a few fingers in front of Hermione's face.

Hermione blinked a few times and, realising how blank she must have looked, laughed along with Lavender. They made their way into the restaurant and were seated promptly by the maitre d'. They talked while scanning the menu perfunctorily –this was a restaurant they ate at regularly. They had their favourites.

"So, Hermione" Lavender asked slyly, putting her menu down. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"What guy?" Hermione asked absently.

"The one you were thinking about on your way here."

Hermione blushed. Had it been _that _obvious? "I wasn't thinking of a guy! I was thinking of a meeting I had just had!"

"Right, I believe that. Now, really, who was it?"

"No one, Lavender!"

"Hermione!"

"What?"

"Stop trying to lie. You're terrible at it. It was a guy, wasn't it?"

"Fine, yes it was," Hermione replied crossly. "But it's not what you think."

Lavender smiled a mischievous smile. "Uh-huh. What was it, then?"

"He's Draco's company's financial advisor. Pierre de Machaut."

Lavender smile slipped off her face at the mention of Draco's name and was replaced by a frown. "What?"

"Exactly," Hermione responded matter-of-factly.

"De Machaut...the name sounds familiar."

"Yeah, it would," Hermione said quietly. "His...fiancée is a de Machaut. They're probably related."

Lavender gave Hermione's hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Are you okay?"

"I'm...as alright as I can be, I suppose. But –" she broke off, and looked around, blinking away the sudden onslaught of tears. "It kind of hurts. It probably shouldn't, and I'm probably being silly, but it just feels so...horrible."

"I –don't know what to say, 'Mione. I wish I could say that I know how you feel, but I really don't. And telling you to move on is easier said than done, but you have to try. Draco Malfoy is a jerk. Nothing will ever change that fact. He doesn't deserve your feelings."

"I _know _that, Lavender, and that's what makes it worse, I suppose. I know it, but I can't help myself. Draco is –"

"Ms. Brown, Hermione. What a pleasant surprise!"

The hairs on Hermione's neck stood on end and her stomach did a few very unpleasant flips. If her body's reactions didn't confirm the speaker's identity, then Lavender's murderous look definitely did. Hermione didn't want to turn around. She didn't.

She turned her head slowly, angling it up to meet his gaze. He wasn't alone. Her eyes flicked over the other person.

"May I introduce to you my fiancée, Camille de Machaut? I don't believe you've met her."

Hermione pushed her chair back, got up and rushed out, leaving behind a murderous Lavender, a confused Camille and Draco.

"What is your _problem_, Malfoy?" Lavender hissed angrily, ignoring the curious stares they were receiving from other guests.

"The problem, as it would appear, is not with me, but with your friend. Maybe you should check up on her?" he retorted, calmly.

"Maybe you should _die, _you vile son-of-a –"

"Now, now, Ms. Brown. I don't like hurting women, but I will be obliged to do so as soon as you finish that sentence."

"You didn't have any problems hurting Hermione, you fool!" Lavender snapped contemptuously, ignoring the existence of the pretty witch by Draco's side, who was looking more confused by each passing second.

"That is a matter between myself and her. You have nothing to do with it."

"Ha, that's rich coming from swine like you, who can't even be bothered to check up on her in these past few months. Who do you think she's had to turn to, Malfoy? Ginny. Me. Harry. Ron. Her friends. So this definitely concerns me. More than it concerns you, almost! You don't even know that she's pr –"

Lavender bit her tongue so hard, it almost bled. That had been a close call. She quickly picked up her purse and made her way around Draco.

He caught her arm. "She's what, Brown?" he asked, looking at her suspiciously.

Lavender looked at him and then at Camille. "Nothing, Malfoy. Nothing that you're entitled to knowing anymore, anyway." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and hurried off in search of Hermione.

* * *

**A/N: If you liked it, please leave a review :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_Love and other moments are just  
Chemical reactions in your brain  
And feelings of aggression are the  
Absence of the love drug in your veins_

--Savage Garden (Gunning Down Romance)

**Draco:**

**Part 1:**

The words left his mouth mechanically and for a moment, he wondered whether she would truly believe his pathetic attempt at ending things. He didn't really believe it himself. He was just doing what had to be done.

Keeping the mask of indifference plastered firmly on his face, he watched with growing horror as Hermione's face fell. She clasped an arm around her waist and dropped into a chair. Draco wondered if he had taken things too far. He _did _want to end things with Hermione, but he didn't want her to get _hurt _over it. He didn't deserve that kind of an emotion from her. He wasn't worth it and he knew it. He wished he could tell her too, but he couldn't. She would hate him, never forgive him. He couldn't live knowing that Hermione Granger loathed him. Again. The question she asked brought him out of his reverie and he had to think about the answer for a moment. And finally –

"Yes." He uttered the word with as much indifference he could muster. "Over."

He almost had to look away from the expression on her face and the question she asked next came out as a mere whisper.

"Draco, but –but why?"

It hurt to see her in so much pain, but it was better than the alternative. It was better than seeing the hate etched into every cell of her face, into every burst of brown in her eyes. He was being selfish, yes, he knew that. But this way, she would forgive him in time. The truth, however, would lead to a permanent severance between the two of them. That was the kind of woman she was. She would never forgive him for cheating on her.

He walked over to her chair and knelt down in front of her, trying not to look concerned at the sight of her breaking down. Imperceptibly, he took in a deep breath and started telling the lies he had spent half of the previous day perfecting.

"Hermione, I...I _need _something more. Something –I don't know...different! We've been together for three years, and now, I just feel...suffocated. I need space."

_I need you. I need you so bad. _

Those were the words he really wanted to say, but they never left his mouth. If anything, Draco Malfoy was a good actor. This moment proved it. He watched her warily for a moment, noticing all the tell-tale signs indicating that she was upset –the flush that had spread all over her features, quickened breathing, glistening eyes. And then she hit him with the million-Galleon question.

"Draco, did –did you _ever _love me?"

He looked away then, because looking at her at that moment hurt more than a dozen simultaneous _Crucio_s. And also because he was sure that his eyes would give away his lie and she would know just how much of a liar Draco Malfoy really was. But then, as a lump formed in his throat, he realised that he couldn't answer her verbally either. This was one lie he refused to tell. He let her come to her own conclusion. He half-hoped she would read his silence for what it was. Yes, he did love her. But he couldn't live with the guilt of knowing that he had cheated on her. And he couldn't tell her the truth because he was too much of a coward.

"Get the fuck out of my flat."

He blinked at the words, once, twice, and then stood up slowly. He wanted to say something, _anything, _to ease the pain, both hers and his, but he had no words. Her dismissal was still ringing in his ears, low and harsh. Like his conscience. So he retrieved his wand and Disapparated to his own flat. His eyes shut tight, his breathing slightly laboured; he dropped into the armchair closest to him without looking around him. He felt empty. Drained. Like there was nothing left worth living for. Idly, he wondered if one could _Avada _themselves. He sighed and opened his eyes again, slowly, to look around. Everything was shrouded in darkness, the only source of light being the fire from the hearth. He didn't feel like switching on the lights. He didn't want the clarity or the realisations that came with it. He didn't want light shed on all his mistakes and lost chances. He didn't want to see all those things that would remind him of her. And the latter would be a very difficult affair, seeing as how _she _had helped him decorate. The room was full of her personal touches. He felt as though _he_ were full of her personal touches. And they were permanent.

Cursing himself inwardly for what seemed as the millionth time, he wondered what the hellhad attracted him so much to the witch that he had cheated on his girlfriend of three years for it. A girlfriend who he loved. Who loved him in return. Draco clenched his fists in frustration, resisting the urge to throw something at the wall. Or at least to destroy something. Anything.

He had argued with Hermione, over something stupid and petty, and he had stormed off to one of his usual restaurants to dine. Alone. Or at least, that had been the plan, until _she _had walked up to him halfway through the main course and asked whether she could join him. He had found it rather strange, but had consented anyway. She was beautiful, well-spoken and came from a long line of Purebloods...the de Machauts. One of France's oldest wizarding families. But that wasn't anything new to him.

_So, then why the _fuck _did I sleep with her?! _

Because he had been angry at Hermione. And the witch had offered. Draco groaned. At that moment, there was no one who hated him more than he hated himself.

* * *

**A/N: Right, so firstly, I have made some changes in Chapter 3...I've added a whole new bit to the end, so you might want to go and read that :D  
Also, the first three chapters are Hermione's side of the story and hereon starts Draco's POV. Hope you enjoyed it, feel free to leave a review :)  
**

**And to nacrolyte, I have watched your videos, and I really like them XD  
To all my other readers/reviewers...a great big THANK YOU for reading and reviewing!**


	5. Chapter 5

_I__ didn't hear you leave_

_I wonder how am I__ still here_

_And I__ don't wanna move a thing_

_I__t might change my memory_

--Dido (Here With Me)

**Part 2: **

He woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. The knocks were sharp, insistent –obviously someone was very eager to see him. He groaned and tried to roll over...except that there was nowhere to roll.

"What the -?" Draco grumbled, opening his eyes reluctantly. He quickly came to the realisation that he was not in his bedroom and therefore, nowhere _near _his bed. He was also painfully aware that outside, someone was trying to break down his door. His first thought, foolishly so, was that maybe it was Hermione. Maybe she had thought it over carefully, analysed everything meticulously in that way that was so like _her_, and she had come to the correct conclusion that he had been lying through his teeth the previous night. Maybe she was here to knock some sense into him, to scream and shout and _fight back_, to show him that he couldn't live without her. Not that he really needed any showing, but maybe she thought he did. And then he would tell her the truth –and do whatever it was necessary to get her back. Maybe she would take him back.

Draco sighed. Maybe deluding himself wasn't the best solution right now. Hermione was one of the few people, in fact, she was the only person, who had Floo access into his apartment. If she had wanted to do any of the things he had been fantasizing about, she wouldn't have been trying to demolish his door.

Speaking of which, the knocking at the door hadn't stopped. Frowning, he got up and made his way to open it, half-tempted to hex whoever was on the other side into some other dimension. Or maybe not. Narcissa Malfoy's concerned gaze was on him, her cool hand on his own.

"Draco, are you alright?"

"Mother," Draco said, nonplussed. "Er –what are you doing here so early?" He moved aside to let her in.

"It's not early, darling, it's _late_," she replied, gliding in past him as he closed the door. "That's why I came to check up on you. It's not like you to miss a meeting with the Board of Directors."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. Exactly what time _was _it? He glanced at his wristwatch.

"Oh, crap!" he muttered, slapping a palm to his forehead. "Why didn't anyone come to get me any _earlier?_"

"Well, we weren't expecting you to be a no-show. We simply assumed you were with Hermione," Narcissa answered as she watched her son hurry about in an attempt to make himself more presentable. "You don't usually oversleep on working days, you know."

"Yes, Mother, I _know_," he almost snarled in frustration. She was not fazed by his reaction.

"At any rate, there is no point in you running around like a madman, Draco. Your father is chairing the meeting in your stead. You've earned a day off."

He looked at her as though she had grown an extra head or two. He didn't need a day off. He needed distractions. A lot of distractions. Preferably in the form of a lot of work.

"I –don't want a day off," he bit out, trying to hide the desperation that threatened to seep through. He needed to forget.

The concerned look was back on Narcissa's face. "Draco –what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he hissed out as he lost the last vestiges of his control. He dropped into the armchair opposite the one currently occupied by his mother. Part of him was thankful that it was she who would witness his breakdown and not anyone like, say, his father.

Narcissa said nothing; she simply raised an eyebrow which clearly conveyed her disbelief. Draco huffed. He sometimes wished his mother were not so intuitive.

"Hermione and I –we broke up." His voice was flat, emotionless. Much like it had been the previous night, with Hermione. But Narcissa could pick up on the undertones of sadness and pain, tangible in his very posture. Her heart went out to her son, but her body remained where it was. Physical comfort was not something her son would accept from her -this much she was aware of. The pride of Malfoy men were often a hindrance in such situations.

Had Draco bothered to look up from his intense examination of his hardwood flooring, he would have noticed the sympathy in her eyes. It was reflected in her voice when she spoke next.

"May I ask why?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then answered. "I –I slept with someone else."

"Who?" It was a mark of her affection that Narcissa's tone was not accusing or judgemental –it was simply a question.

"Camille de Machaut."

A curt nod and then – "And you told Hermione this?"

Draco shook his head. "I couldn't. She'd hate me for the rest of her life if I'd told her the truth."

"So what _did _you tell her, Draco?" The tiniest bit of exasperation coloured her tone. Of all the witches in the whole wide universe, her son had to go and sleep with a de Machaut offspring –one of the richest, oldest and possible most opportunistic families to ever exist. This was bound to lead to no place good.

"That I didn't feel the same anymore. That I needed some space." His voice was a mere whisper, but it carried across the room to where his mother sat, astonished at her son's blatant lies. Even more astonished that Hermione had actually believed them.

"Draco, I..." she trailed off as the sound of an owl tapping on his window interrupted her speech. She watched sadly as her son's face lit up with hope, only to fall again as he noticed the unfamiliar, elegant script on the parchment the owl bore. After feeding the owl some treats, he sat down to read the letter.

Draco had always been pale as a child, and as he grew, his paleness remained, somehow adding to his overall attractiveness. But as Narcissa watched her son turn unhealthy shades of white, she knew that that letter was the bearer of the ill news she had been expecting ever since Draco had uttered the name 'Camille de Machaut'. And she was right.

"What is it, Draco?"

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Camille de Machaut. Dinner. Tonight."

* * *

_Three months later…_

"Isn't this all going a bit too fast?" Draco asked, fighting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Three months ago he hadn't even known this witch. Now he was engaged to her, and the whole of Britain, and possible France, too, knew about it. When his mother had warned him of their opportunistic nature, he hadn't quite realised that they had actually had leech-like tendencies. He felt rather sorry for himself, but he knew he deserved it.

"Of course not, Draco! Why would you think that?" Camille asked, sounding outraged.

"We don't even know each other."

"We'll have plenty of time for that after we get married, darling."

He hated it when she called him that. Coming to think of it, he hated it when she opened her mouth. It wasn't that her voice was unpleasant –on the contrary, it was very pleasant –soft, slightly musical. But it didn't appeal to him. Not the way Hermione's calm, practical voice did. His own personal voice of reason and sanity. As opposed to Camille's voice of chaos –because it seemed as though each time she opened her mouth, a ridiculous idea would find its way out of her mind and take shape in the real world. For example, their marriage.

Once daddy de Machaut had caught a whiff of his daughter's new love interest, he had swooped down on Malfoy Industries faster than Draco could say _'_not interested' and offered Lucius Malfoy a merger that would ensure them all another Gringotts' full of money. Lucius Malfoy, being Lucius Malfoy, had declared that his monetary development was much more important than his son's sanity and love-life and suddenly Draco had a ring shoved onto his left hand, fourth finger. Not to mention, Malfoy Industries was somehow becoming a de Machaut family business, what with Luc de Machaut (the father) now on the Board of Directors and Pierre de Machaut (the brother) employed as the new Financial Advisor –a post specially created for Pierre, it would seem, because Malfoy Industries had never _needed _a financial advisor before. Draco felt powerless. It was ridiculous.

His head was spinning.

"Right," he mumbled. "After we get married."

He reminded himself to get in touch with his lawyer to make sure an air-tight, or in this case, a money-tight pre-nuptial agreement was drawn up. They wouldn't be getting penny out of him. Not if he could help it.

He made his excuses and Disapparated directly to Theodore Nott's office.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello all! I've got my finals in two weeks and I'm busy posting new chapters...shame on me. My poor mother would probably have an aneurysm if she knew. Okay, well, technically, it's only this one chapter...but still. And it's kinda crazy, but I haven't actually _seen_ any of my friends in the past three or four days...and the phone calls consist of hours and hours agonizing and moaning and, of course, comparing notes. Ugh. Sad. **

**Anyhoo, the reason for this author's note (yes, there _is _a reason beyond pointless rambling about exams!!) is to thank all my readers and reviewers...for the reviews I haven't been replying to (sorry!!). **

**Thanks goes to:**

_Singedshadows_, **pester22**, _gtbioteach_, **CrazyWiAtch**, _aquaimp_, **Black Mirror**, _princessgrl_, **nacrolyte**, _EvilTobi_, **SlytherinSexSlave**, _cosmopolitan_, **swfap88**, _My-Edward-1992_, **CullenHaleLuvr94**, _Dianna_, **Draco'sMoonPrincess**, _SapphireAngel6_, **SiriusStarHolder**, _x.Black.Princess_, **Bella67x**, _Coly-Oly_, **Hardkisses**, _Lady-Draco79_, **Michelle Amethyst**, _NO REGRETSxo_, **Think positive**, _Zagreb-girl_, **lllyana**, _xXxAngelxGirlx13xXx_

**for reviewing it, putting the story on your alerts or favourites, or for doing all three. Naturally, hugs to those who've done all three :D.**

**Okay, enough of my blabbering, enjoy this chapter! And...review :)**

* * *

_But I think she saw through it  
_

_I see through myself_

_Another chance gone, won't get many more_

_But I'm not the only guy I know that_

_I'm not the only guy I know that_

_You never notice_

--Gomez (Notice)

**Part 3: **

"Drago."

Draco looked up from the pre-nuptial agreement Theodore had drafted, his eyebrows drawn in annoyance. He knew they were French, but for Merlin's sake, they didn't have to actually use the French version of his name!

"Pierre," he started frostily, "my name is _Draco_. With a 'c'." Not satisfied with Pierre's lack of response, he continued. "And why don't you go back outside, _knock _on the door and wait for _my permission _before entering?" The heat behind the words belied his calm exterior.

A twinge of satisfaction ran through him as a muscle in Pierre's jaw ticked. He could almost _hear _the internal struggle –tell Draco to fuck off and lose the best deal of his life, or humiliate himself and earn a few million galleons. Draco watched sourly as Pierre reluctantly walked back out of his office and proceeded according to Draco's previous instructions. Fuck, he _loathed _that family. Bunch of foul, parasitical _thieves _were all they were. He cursed the day he had ever laid eyes on that Camille and wished more than anything that he had a Time Turner in his possession. He would go back in time and whack his old self on the head a few times. Pierre walked back into the office –with Draco's acquiescence, this time –and set a pile of folders on Draco's table.

"What's this?" Draco asked, masking the anger in his voice with a half-hearted attempt at curiosity. He didn't really care what Pierre did. They usually weren't overly beneficial for the company, anyway.

"The new Tax Law passed by the Ministry."

"And?"

"The new importation taxes are five percent more than what they were before –it's unacceptable."

"Is it?" Draco asked, bored.

"Dra_co_," Pierre hissed, emphasising the 'co', "you may not care enough about this company, but I do –"

Pierre was abruptly silenced by a heated look from Draco and had the sense to falter back by a step or two. "What. Did. You. Say?" Draco bit out furiously. He picked up his wand and waved it at the open door, locking it shut behind Pierre. It was obvious that the man was looking for a good hex, and Draco would be more than happy to comply. Pierre swallowed nervously.

"I –there was no need to shut the door –"

"Yes, there was." Draco interrupted, his deathly quiet voice still dripping with murderous intent. "Now, please, do continue. I believe you were saying something about _me _not caring about my _own _company..."

"I –that's not what I meant."

"It better not have been, you halfwit slime-ball."

Pierre frowned at this, affronted. "Now, look here, Drago..."

His sentence was once again interrupted by a loud bang and Pierre found himself flying through the air, until the back of his head collided, painfully, with the door. He slumped to the floor.

"The name is _Draco_. Will the lump on the back of your head be a sufficient reminder? Or do I actually have to crack your skull open –a more _lasting _reminder?"

Pierre had had enough. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the wooziness and drew his wand, aiming it directly at Draco. It was an admirable feat that his hand did not waver as he pointed the wand at Draco's chest.

"Malfoy," he hissed, glaring daggers at the smirking blond, "don't think of me as weak just because I haven't hexed you yet. I can. Provoke me again, and I will."

"Oh, will you?" Draco asked, mockingly.

Pierre did not reply.

"I don't think you will," Draco continued, as though he did not have a furious man aiming a wand at his chest. "You want to know why? Because I _know _people like you –it's the money you want. It's so obvious, it makes me want to gag. I shag your sister in a moment of weakness and three months later, I'm getting married to her and we're this close," he held this thumb and index finger a small distance apart, "to renaming the company to Malfoy _and _de Machaut Industries. Like I'd ever let that happen."

Pierre scoffed. "Well, it would seem there's not much you can do about it. If you're _so _determined that we're the bad guys, then why are we still here? Why haven't you broken the engagement? Why haven't you kicked us out of the company yet? _Because you can't._" He smirked victoriously at the slight redness that tinged Draco's cheeks. "You may be the CEO and whatnot, but in the end, it's your father who pulls the strings around here, and we both know it."

Draco looked angry enough to burst. Pierre understood that –it meant that his words had touched a nerve or two. So, it was surprising when Draco suddenly seemed to calm down and even smiled a little. Pierre eyed him suspiciously.

"Pierre...if you actually think that I would give your family a single _Knut_, you're very mistaken. If you're still here –it's because I _respect _my father's decisions, not because I am powerless to overturn them. I still own the majority of the shares of this company, remember that."

"Half of which is automatically transferred to your wife after marriage," Pierre added triumphantly. "Which reduces your majority."

"Not after marriage, Pierre. After she has given birth to our first child."

"Which will only be a matter of time."

"More like never. I have a semi-permanent contraceptive charm placed on me."

He didn't of course, but he made a mental note to visit a Healer as soon as possible to get it done. Predictably, Pierre blanched. "What?"

"Oops." Draco smiled widely. "Did I ruin your fun?"

"You –you'll have to have it removed –"

"No, I don't _have _to do anything. And –forget about divorce settlements. I have a pre-nuptial agreement just waiting to be signed. No signature, no wedding."

It was Pierre's turn to fight for control. Draco suppressed the large grin that was threatening to break out –a tough job which made his cheeks ache.

"Now," Draco continued pleasantly, walking back to his chair and opening the door with a flick of his wand. "What were you saying about the new Tax Law?"

A moment of silence and then – "Five percent increase in importation taxes. Unacceptable."

"Hmm." Draco pondered this. Importation taxes were already rather high –a ploy by the Ministry to promote the usage of local materials rather than foreign ones. More prosperity to local businesses and the country and whatnot. The new Tax Law brought importation taxes up to an incredible amount, especially for companies such as his own, which relied on a lot of foreign materials. He nodded at Pierre.

"I'll see what I can do."

"No," Pierre gritted out, "that is _my _job. Tell me what to do and I'll get it done by the end of the day."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is there any reason why _I _can't get it done by the end of the day?"

Pierre smirked. "I heard you had an, erm, _romantic _lunch planned with Camille..."

Draco cursed internally. He had almost forgotten about meeting Camille for lunch. Crap.

"Right, so I can do it first thing tomorrow –"

"No, _you can't._ We need this sorted out by tonight. We're sending out an order to Germany tonight –we need that tax concession before we place the order."

He had a point. Draco sighed and gave a quick nod, returning to the paperwork on his desk. "Fine. Write to the Ministry, tell them you're going over to discuss the issue."

"Any particular department?"

"Yes. The Department of Financial Affairs," he replied absently, not looking up. "You'll have to talk with the Chief Analyst and Advisor, Hermi..." he broke off suddenly, remembering.

Hermione Granger. No.

The silence that followed was too long, too tense. Draco had long since dropped his quill, his hands were loosely curled into fists atop his desk.

"Draco." Pierre's voice finally broke through the silence. "I don't have all day."

Draco's eyes snapped up to meet the Frenchman's assessing gaze. He could almost hear the wheels turning in the man's head –Draco couldn't deny it, a leech though he may be, Pierre was nothing if not perceptive. And right now he was putting two and two together to get fucking forty-four. So, Draco had to say something, fast to repair whatever damage the idiot was about to cause. The de Machaut's had no idea of his relationship with Hermione, no one had told them. Draco would have to have been naive to believe that they hadn't heard rumours, but there was no concrete proof. Except for his current fucked up state...he might as well have been walking around with a sign on his head saying 'Hermione Granger Is My Ex-Girlfriend'. And adding the 'ex' to it still hurt like hell. He cleared his throat, letting the lies flow through him. Lying to them came naturally. Lying to Hermione –not quite so...and he had found that out the hard way.

"Uh, right. As I was saying, you'll have to talk to the Head of Department of Financial Affairs, Kirk Cress."

"I thought you said I had to talk to the Chief Analyst and Advisor, Hermione Granger."

Draco could hear the scepticism in his voice. It seemed to be emanating out of every pore on the surface of his skin. At that moment Draco would have liked nothing better than to reach across his desk and strangle the stupid French Pureblood.

"I know what I said, and yes, generally, she _is _the right person to talk to on matters such as this. But we started dealing with the Head of the Department directly after –"

"After the two of you started dating?"

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Calm. Draco met Pierre's eyes, gray like his own, intentions plain for all to see. Pierre had a new weapon. And he was going to _love _using it.

Losing the last vestiges of his barely-there control, Draco, in one fluid motion, walked to the other side of his desk once again and grasped the fronts of the other man's robes, hoisting him to his feet and bringing his face inches from Draco's own.

"Stay _away_ from her. This is _not _an issue I am willing to compromise on, got that?"

Pierre smirked and nodded lazily. A gasp from outside the office caused Draco to let the man go, albeit reluctantly. He turned to the source of the noise and found his secretary staring the pair wide-eyed. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Uh...sorry to disturb, Mr. Malfoy...erm...Mr. Gladvitch is here to see you for the –ah –appointment you have..."

He briskly smoothed his robes. "Right. Send him in." He turned to Pierre. "You. Out. Kirk Cress. Now."

Giving a mock salute, Pierre walked out of Draco's office, leaving Draco to deal with an unpleasant feeling that had set low in his stomach –and a wizened, old, Bulgarian business mastermind.

* * *

"Did you enjoy lunch?"

Draco glanced at his fiancée and was tempted to ignore her, as he had been doing for the better part of their lunch. Unfortunately, he didn't have the distraction of food as an excuse and so he simply nodded his head in response, hoping she wouldn't persist on making small talk. She did.

"I loved it...this is truly one of the best restaurants..." Camille gave a dreamy sigh as she gazed out of the window at the passing lunchtime crowds. Not many of them entered the restaurant. The Waving Wand was, after all, very exclusive and picky about its clientele. Very upscale. Just the way Camille liked it.

Draco had his eyes trained on the opposite end, to the entrance of the restaurant. The people coming in were mostly high-class office workers, the rich, the famous and the boring. So it took him by surprise when Lavender Brown waltzed in...followed by Hermione.

Draco blinked once, twice, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. No, she was still there. He stared at her, his pulse racing madly in anticipation for the moment when she would feel his heated gaze and their eyes would lock. That moment didn't come, but his pulse didn't slow down. She looked beautiful. More so than before, if that were possible. She looked healthy and happy. She and Brown had been laughing almost non-stop since they had walked into the restaurant. The maitre d' seated them at a table and they picked up their menus.

Draco kept his eyes locked on her, drinking her. Where was the damn bill, already? He needed to go and talk to her. She was like his magnet and he was gravitating towards her. It was natural for them to be together.

The bill finally arrived and Draco flung a pouch of Galleons onto the table without so much as glancing at the amount. Standing up, he made his way towards their table, only remembering to pull Camille along at the last minute. As he approached their table, he could hear snippets of their conversation.

"... the lucky guy?" Brown asked, a playful edge to her tone.

"What guy?" Hermione asked absently.

Brown's answer was too low to hear, but the blush staining Hermione's cheeks made it all very clear that the answer was not something Draco would have liked to hear.

"I wasn't thinking of a guy! I was thinking of a meeting I had just had!" he heard Hermione exclaim. Draco came to a standstill. Hermione always had been a terrible liar.

"Right, I believe that. Now, really, who was it?" Brown asked, and Draco found himself just as curious to know.

"No one, Lavender!"

"Hermione!"

"What?"

"Stop trying to lie. You're terrible at it. It was a guy, wasn't it?"

"Fine, yes it was," came the reply. "But it's not what you think."

"Uh-huh. What was it, then?"

"He's Draco's company's financial advisor. Pierre de Machaut."

The dull roar that signified a large rush of blood to Draco's head made it impossible for him to hear the remainder of the conversation. They had broken up...it had been what? Three months? And she had already found someone else. A replacement. Pierre fucking de Machaut. His grip on Camille hand tightened and she winced slightly.

"Draco," she hissed unhappily into his ear. "What _are _you doing?"

"Come along, darling, we're going to meet some old classmates of mine," he whispered back, a fake smile pasted on his face.

He walked up to their table stiffly. They still hadn't noticed him.

"Ms. Brown, Hermione. What a pleasant surprise!" he greeted them with fake enthusiasm.

_Three fucking years, all those 'I love you's and this was what it all boiled down to. Three months of regret and Pierre de Machaut. _

He couldn't care less about Brown and he kept his eyes trained on Hermione, who had her back to him. She didn't seem to want to turn around, but she did so, slowly.

_Can't even look at me, can you? _

Finally their eyes locked, and for a quarter of a second, he was lost in all the turbulent emotions hers held. But primarily, it was resentment. Towards him. And then she dismissed him by turning her gaze on Camille. And it hurt, because her reaction was not one of anger or jealousy or –_anything_ that would lead him to believe that maybe she still cared for him. It was nothing. Blank. Uncaring.

_Three years...and the only woman I've ever been able to think about is you. _

"May I introduce to you my fiancée, Camille de Machaut? I don't believe you've met her."

He couldn't catch a glimpse of Hermione's face –it was shielded by her hair. He watched as she pushed her chair back, got up and rushed out of the restaurant. A part of him felt vindicated, another part felt sick. Physically ill. Guilt tore through him along with anger, and bitter resentment –towards himself, Hermione and Pierre.

"What is your _problem_, Malfoy?" Brown hissed angrily at him, dragging him out of his momentary stupor.

"The problem, as it would appear, is not with me, but with your friend. Maybe you should check up on her?" he retorted calmly, the words rolling off his tongue naturally. Born a Malfoy. Raised to be a Malfoy. To always have an answer prepared, no matter what the circumstances.

"Maybe you should _die, _you vile son-of-a –"

"Now, now, Ms. Brown. I don't like hurting women, but I will be obliged to do so as soon as you finish that sentence."

"You didn't have any problems hurting Hermione, you fool!" Brown snapped at him, voice full of contempt.

He felt Camille fidget next to him. She, like her brother, must have guessed by now. Splendid.

"That is a matter between myself and her. You have nothing to do with it." Draco responded coolly.

"Hah, that's rich coming from swine like you, who hasn't even bothered to check up on her these past few months. Who do you think she's had to turn to, Malfoy? Ginny. Me. Harry. Ron. Her friends. So this definitely concerns me. More than it concerns you, almost! You don't even know that she's pr –"

Draco frowned. He didn't know what? Why did she stop? Hermione...what had happened to her? Brown attempted to make her way past him, but he halted her exit by catching hold of her elbow.

"She's what, Brown?" he asked, eyeing her curiously. Was something wrong with her? Was she ill? Was she relocating? Was she..._what? _

Brown looked at him and then at Camille. "Nothing, Malfoy. Nothing that you're entitled to knowing anymore, anyway."

She hurried off, leaving behind a troubled Draco.


End file.
